


A Second Encounter

by NAMINEM



Series: A Second Encounter [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alliance, M/M, POV First Person, Post-Jack the Ripper Arc, Sebastian's POV, Sort of bromance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4553553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NAMINEM/pseuds/NAMINEM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out on an errand for his master, Sebastian meets William for the first time since the Jack the Ripper case. He believes that this second chance meeting will be their last but soon realizes that he is mistaken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I often cross paths with Grim Reapers during my travels, and for the majority of those interactions, I manage to avoid being attacked. They are neutral creatures, after all, and are on a tight schedule, so although I am a demon, the usual response to my presence is merely a glare; perhaps they sense that I will not trouble them… or perhaps they are afraid to enter combat with one of my kind when it can be avoided. (It’s hard to tell if you’re challenging the strongest among us or the weakest because our appearances rarely give anything away.)

Because of the careful nature of the Grim Reaper, it is rare that one intercepts the same individual more than once. Grell Sutcliff, of course, is an exception to this concept because he appears to seek out danger like it is a necessity to his survival. With the loud, red creature, I had truly hoped that I would never see him again after the case of Jack the Ripper, but I knew quite easily that I would, no matter what result I personally hoped for.

On the other hand, I had been quite certain that I would never see the redhead’s companion – the manager William T. Spears – again after that night. I later found, however, that my prediction was wrong.

-

It has been several weeks since Jack the Ripper, and my Young Master Ciel has sent me on an errand pertaining to a newer case. The sun is beginning to set, casting oblong shadows across the city. The chill that is enveloping the air causes breath to be seen as whitish puffs on the wind.

I have been absolutely focused on the task that has been assigned to me – to make a list of suspects – when my concentration is altered by the eruptive sound of a battle from an alleyway across the street. The humans nearby immediately scurry away at the sound of danger.

Although I would usually ignore such a thing (it is common for fights to break out between humans or immortal beings), a strange force seems to urge me closer, to see what is transpiring within the alley. Before making a decision on this feeling, I consider how this would affect my schedule. A small delay is apparent, but I come to the conclusion that it would not affect my duties too greatly and I’d still return to my master earlier than he would expect. With this in mind, I cross the cobblestone to investigate.

Near the end of the alley is where the brawl is occurring. It is a common fight – one between a reaper and a demon over a soul – and I am immediately disappointed that it is nothing really remarkable. I am considering turning on my heel and leaving when the demon is flung in my direction with a force I never would have expected from a Grim Reaper. I easily dodge the form as it comes at me, and the demon, seeming humiliated by this defeat, picks himself off of the stone ground where he has landed and leaps to a rooftop, disappearing from sight.

I return my attention to the bespectacled immortal who is now calmly skimming through his book of duties as if the fight had been an average occurrence that could be forgotten instantly; he is obviously a veteran of sorts.

It takes me a moment to recognize him as the reaper who had retrieved Grell Sutcliff after his affairs with my Young Master’s aunt.

The last time I had seen him, I hadn’t had much time to observe him, so now as we stand in silence, the man that I had originally brushed from my mind without a second thought I am now seeing in a new light.

I first notice his orderly appearance: he had just been battling with another immortal being, but his dark suit is still just as wrinkle-free and his hair just as tidy as if he had stepped out of his residence only a moment ago. I then notice his physique: although obscured by his loose-fitting clothes, it is easy to tell that he is lean and powerfully built, as if he’s been chasing down souls and gliding from rooftop to rooftop for the entirety of his existence. His face is angular and somehow elegant in appearance, and it feels that every bit of him is meant to function as precisely as the mechanics within a clock.

He stands as if he already knows what will happen and without hesitance in his power, boldly commanding my attention without effort (and perhaps without intending to).

For a long while, he remains gazing into his book, not even acknowledging my presence, and finally – but without removing his attention from the text within his pages – he says dully, “You’re the tame dog from the Jack the Ripper case…” His voice is clipped and as crisp as his facial features; it seems to come partly from his nose, which somehow accentuates his air of authority. I know he is not looking for a response, so I do not reply.

After several more minutes, he tucks his book away into his suit jacket and adjusts his spectacles before finally looking at me. For the first time, I notice that his eyes are different from those of an average Grim Reaper; physically, they are the same polychromatic yellow-green, but they appear to hold an understanding unlike that of any other Grim Reaper I’ve seen.

A story seems written in those eyes, and to an extent that surprises even me, I want to know what is there. I suddenly desire to dwell in every word that could be within them – every syllable that could be uttered by their wielder.

He eyes me over with subtle intrigue, and I hope that maybe he finds as much interest in me as I do him.

Big Ben chimes in the distance, signaling the end of one hour and the start of the next. The clock’s call seems to summon its clock-like reaper, and the manager turns his gaze away and begins his quick stride out of the alley, passing me. He likely has another job to get to.

I realize quickly that I don’t want him to leave yet, so I step toward him without thinking my actions through.

Although having been supposedly unarmed in the previous moment, his weapon is now suddenly in his hands, the sharp blade pointed at my throat. His eyes are alight with their glimmering power, and while his expression has only darkened slightly – a subtly harsher tilt to his eyebrows – a silent, threatening growl seems to be emitted by his gaze. If I had to breathe regularly like a human had to, I am sure that the air would have been knocked out of me at this moment.

His ferocity is somehow beautiful and unparalleled in my mind. He reminds me of a wild creature lurking in the shadows of civilization – a creature so suited to and deserving of a different environment.

Although I look at him now with reverence and admiration, I recognize that I have upset the delicate balance between us. He might be different from other reapers, and I might be different from other demons, but we are not friends – we are not even acquaintances; it is obvious that his first reaction to my sudden movement would be to protect himself. And indeed, he displays that he can protect himself quite marvelously.

I step away to allow him peace, although the fire in his eyes that sends shivers throughout my body I wish I could dwell in for longer. Slowly, he lowers his weapon to his side. He speaks again, and the annoyance is evident in his tone.

“I have souls to collect, demon, so I warn you: do not test my patience.”

He moves to leave again, and I hastily conjure up a subject that will keep him near if only for a short while. “I have my own duties,” I find myself saying. “My Young Master has ordered me to find information on several individuals... I’m sure you – as a Grim Reaper – know a considerable amount of information on them.”

He is silent a moment, and his emerald eyes dart over me as if he can scan through my thoughts, and I wonder if he knows that I am lying. He quirks a dark eyebrow, and replies, “Do you honestly think I would give such information to the likes of you?”

I am not offended by his clear distaste for my kind because it is both common and expected. I only say, “No.”

The intrigue comes back to his eyes; he’s obviously puzzling over this, wondering why I would request something from him that I already know I will not receive. I almost want to give him the reason – that I just wanted to look at him a little longer and hear his voice for more than a moment before he was gone again, where the likelihood of me seeing him a third time would be even slimmer – but I don’t say it because I know it will startle him. I just allow him to think it through and come to his own conclusion.

At this point, I’m not sure what else I can do to keep him, and I recall that I must return to my own task given to me by my master. It leaves me bitter to have to go back to serving the brat while this creature roams the London streets at night, his shimmering eyes lit by the moon and his hair disheveled by the cold wind. I know he goes about his duties on his own (it is evident that he is a solitary being), and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to travel alongside him through the shadows of civilization – a small possibility if I weren’t a ‘tame dog.’ But it is nothing more than a fantasy that I recognize there is no use in hanging onto.

He will continue on his way as I will mine.

But I am desperate for something to serve as a memento of this reaper who I will most likely never converse with again – or something that will keep me satisfied until I can remove myself from the manacles made by my master and can come searching for him.

Being that it had been mentioned so passively apart of his introduction, the manager’s name now escapes my mind. I think that his name should be enough to dwell on for a while.

I know the question will confuse him, but I hope he will answer, anyway. I try to sound casual. “You’ve said your name before but I’m having difficulty recalling it… What is it?”

It’s obvious that he is eager to return to his collections because he quickly answers my inquiry without reflection, perhaps hoping I’ll let him go if he does. “My name is William T. Spears, and while I am sure demons like you have oodles of time to idly talk, I have business to attend to. Excuse me.”

He leaps up onto a rooftop just like the demon had, and I watch him momentarily stand with his weapon tucked under his arm and his book open under his nose. The moon is rising behind him, and the white light reflects off of his spectacles as he looks down at me and adjusts them.

I take the moment to commit his voice, his speech pattern, his eyes, and his illuminated figure to memory, and by the time I attach his name to it all, William T. Spears has closed his book, and he leaps over to the buildings on the opposite side of the street and soon disappears from sight.

William means ‘determined warrior.’ It suits him, I think to myself. As I leave the alley, I hope silently that my Young Master won’t get in the way of my hearing that same, icy voice murmuring from the shadows in the future.


	2. Chapter 2

For the past several days, the weather has been alternating between gray, sunless skies and torrents of icy rain. Because conditions were predicted to worsen this afternoon with a powerful storm continuing until tomorrow morning, my Young Master had decided to do what he could of his duties whilst remaining inside.

The sun had set about three hours ago, and I am now preparing my master to retire for the night. As is customary of the Young Lord, he refrains from saying anything that doesn’t pertain to my duties for tonight or to his desires for tomorrow as I dress him in his night clothes. As he ensconces himself in his bed, I inform him gently to get some rest, and I exit into the hallway with the candelabra I had carried into his bedroom and slowly close the door behind me.

At this point, I commence my nightly duties, abandoning the candelabra for lack of necessity. I start by checking to see if the doors are locked and that all windows are shut tightly. (With the current weather, the latter is doubly important.) Once I’ve seen to these tasks, I head off to begin preparations for tomorrow’s breakfast and attend to other miscellaneous duties, but on my way to these tasks, I pass by a window facing out onto the manor’s garden.

As I do so, the strange sensation of being watched flickers through my being. Confusedly, I return to the window, and I look out into the heavy rain, attempting to determine if I have an observer or have perhaps imagined the feeling.

Thunder growls in the distance as I eye the flooded scenery below, and my gaze finally lands on the humanoid silhouette standing in the rain. I find myself tilting my head at the figure in slight perplexity; even with the storm obscuring my vision some, I can tell that the silhouette is swaying slightly on its feet. I half expect that an inebriate has wandered onto the estate looking for shelter when a flash of lightning temporarily illuminates the black sky. This is quickly followed by a deafening clap of thunder that causes a vibration to run through the manor house.

I only need the momentary source of light to recognize the face of William T. Spears and to conclude that his swaying is likely due to the bearing of some severe wounds.

To say that I am puzzled by his presence is an understatement, but I realize that he must have come here in search of aid. Although I usually only feel fettered down when helping others, I actually find that I desire to assist him.

I’m turning to head in his direction when I see him collapse into the mud from the corner of my eye, and I hasten to him now.

Opening the door to the wind and the rain, I rush to his side to find that he has fallen unconscious, and I scoop him up into my arms, bringing him inside so I can more effectively examine his injuries.

I carry him to my room so that the carpets won’t be soiled, but he is so soaked with rainwater that his clothes and his hair cling to his skin; despite my best efforts, the water still allows blood and dirt to more easily drip onto the floor. I know I will need to return to the hallways and clean the mess before I wake my master, but this concern is temporarily forgotten when I recognize that Spears’s lacerations are from his own death scythe.

I reach my room quickly, open the door, and set the injured reaper on my bed. Then I leave briefly to fetch a bucket of warm, soapy water with a clean cloth, bandages, and a needle and thread, but even that short amount of time shows to be harmful to William; his face has grown ashen, and I find that he is cold to the touch.

I’m sure that he will be displeased when he becomes aware of it, but I know I must remove his soaked clothing in order to raise his body temperature and treat his wounds. So – careful not to worsen his condition – I remove them and set them aside. It is at this time that I notice that his death scythe is not on his person, but I don’t have time to dwell on this for long.

His body is littered with light scratches and bruises, but the clear problem is the injury at the side of his abdomen – a fairly deep stab wound. His blood is already seeping into the mattress. Hastily, I remove my gloves, push up my sleeves, and get to work on sterilizing, closing, and bandaging this injury.

When he and I had crossed paths the second time, I had obviously been correct in assessing his body structure, but I had hardly bothered to consider how it would feel to the touch; as I’m cleaning and wrapping his largest wound, my hands brush against the firm muscles of his stomach, and I find it surprisingly difficult not to stop in my task and run my fingers over his front.

After successfully wrapping the wound, I decide to get a flame going in the fireplace, and I set his garments close to it to dry so I can return them to him as quickly as possible. Then I continue to treat his other injuries.

I’m almost finished with cleaning his wounds when he stirs slightly. Noiselessly, he opens his emerald eyes. They take a moment to settle on me, where they stare blearily – almost tranquilly – for several moments before closing again. _At least that’s an improvement_ , I think to myself. But further thought on my part leaves me wondering why he had looked at me so calmly.

I had originally thought that he had been desperate – that maybe we had been the closest potential lodgings and that it had been only when Spears drew nearer to the manor that he noticed my scent; considering his injuries, it would have been too late to turn back by that time. Or perhaps his quietude stemmed from delirium and he had not recognized me as a threat upon his momentary consciousness… but I also start to ponder (and perhaps hope) that he had recognized the manor and had found us – or more specifically me – trustworthy for aid. I even venture to think that he might have sought me out immediately after sustaining his injuries before I realize that I’m getting a little too fanciful.

Once I have finished with his wounds, I pull the bed sheets over his exposed body, hoping it will help him in reclaiming body heat. Other than changing his bandages and maintaining his temperature, there is not much else I need to do here. I consider returning to my duties, but I feel somehow that it is too soon to leave his side; a death scythe wound to any immortal is to not be regarded lightly, after all.

I decide to remain where I am, despite the threat of passing time.

William T. Spears had not entered my thoughts for quite a while, but I find him now returning to the forefront of my mind: the clocklike reaper with the shining eyes who looks all too appropriate framed by the light of the moon… He is here now, in an even more civilized environment than before – one that I myself detest. Lying within the bed I don’t often use, he looks trapped somehow and so out of place in this room in my Young Master’s residence.

It seems that I have misjudged him considering that this is the third time that we’ve crossed paths. He is still just as feral and fantastic as before, but now he seems a little more tangible – like a mysterious veil has been lifted from his figure: this is the first time I’ve seen his angular features so relaxed; his stomach rises and falls gently with his unnecessary but likely habitual breathing; and his hair has reverted to its natural disorder – a beautiful unlikeness to his typical, trim appearance.

I am not accustomed to being close to a Grim Reaper in such a peaceful manner, but it is definitely not an unwelcome occurrence. I try to preserve it, and although William is unconscious, I still take caution with each of my actions, not wanting to give my unusual guest a reason to distrust me. I have turned the chair that is commonly situated by my bureau and have settled myself within it beside the bed; I have hardly moved since.

I’ve watched him for about an hour when I realize that the color is beginning to return to his face, and the flow of blood from his injuries has subsided, so I decide that now is a good time to complete my other duties – before the sun comes up and it is time to wake my master. Quietly, I rise to my feet and depart from the room, closing the door as I do so.

-

I return about two hours later after completing my other tasks. I had managed to finish my duties faster than anticipated and had time to create a meal for William to eat when he wakes. I am unsure how much he will be able to keep down, so I have prepared for him a couple of scones to start.

I’m about to open the door when I sense motion on the other side. To avoid startling him if he is conscious, I restrict myself to entering slowly. I open the door partially and peer into my quarters to find that Spears is sitting up now. His gaze is much more focused than before, and he is delicately nursing his wounds and assessing both the damage to his person and his whereabouts. It is clear to me by the way he eyes the room that he is unsure where he is, but after several minutes (in which I had not moved or made a single sound), he seems comfortable enough with his surroundings to begin fussing over his unkempt, damp hair.

The way he grooms himself is virtually feline, and I have to make an effort not to look too fascinated when I enter the room.

Despite my efforts, he starts at the sight of me and tugs the bed sheets up to cover himself. A glare immediately settles onto his features as if he suspects that I’ve wronged him; he doesn’t even seem to be thinking about the fact that someone had to have bandaged his wounds…

Hoping to gain his trust, I merely retrieve his garments from where I had laid them by the fireplace and set them – along with the tray which holds the scones – beside him on the bed.

For several minutes, he remains staring fixatedly at me, but it seems that the temptation of food grows to be too much for him; slowly, he scoops up the tray and gives its contents a wary sniff. Then he eyes me askance and emits a distrustful sound in the back of his throat.

His suspicion is understandable, I suppose; raised in such a dark world as ours, it would be difficult for either of our kinds to trust the other immediately. I still have a good point to bring to his attention, however: “If I had desired to harm you, I would have done so when you were unconscious and bleeding in the rain… or I would have merely left you there to succumb to your injuries. To think that after all that I have done to assist you that I would tamper with your food… Well, to do so would be both foolish and inefficient – especially when in helping you, I’ve utilized some of my precious time which could have been used fittingly elsewhere.”

The intrigue that I’m beginning to adore returns to his eyes. He must be turning the concept over in his mind – that I had actually desired to aid him. The look of concentration deepens on his face as he seems to be mulling over my possible motives, and after a pause, his eyes widen slightly. Instead of coming to the conclusion that I can be trusted, it seems as if he has imagined some new scenario that incriminates me even further.

And by the way he looks me over with disgust and tucks his legs in closer to his body as if to protect himself, it is not hard to deduce what he is thinking.

I feel my own features form into a grimace. “It is not at all like that! We are not all crude, mindless barbarians!”

Incredulity laces William’s tone as he quickly counters, “Oh, yes, and I suppose you are just a friendly demon who assists anyone in peril…? There is no ‘good Samaritan’ policy with you lot; you want _something_ from me-”

“I want you as my ally,” I say without prudence, prompted by the frustration of being ignorantly classified as a salacious fiend. I regret it immediately and wish I could swallow the words so that they would return to only thoughts swimming in my brain; I loathe the effect the sentence has on my guest.

He scoffs at it, finding such a concept absurd. A demon and a reaper – allies? It is unheard of, really. His face contorts into a hybrid of judgment and disquiet. (This is the first time I consider him ugly.) “I cannot tell if you are jesting with me or if you are mad!”

I know that attempting to justify my outburst will not help. Hoping to leave the conversation where it is and never resume it, I act unaffected by his words – like my slipup had never transpired. “If it gives you peace, then I shall leave you and return to my other tasks. While I am gone, I could also prepare you some tea…”

His face relaxes some, returning to its regular, indifferent expression. But his eyes feel as if they’re examining the very recesses of my mind, looking into my weaknesses and learning that I am indeed mad for desiring an alliance with him. After a pause, he merely says, “… No tea. I do not need any more of your abhorrent gentility.”

I slowly nod in response and then leave the room. I don’t go far, however; only walking further down the hallway to give the reaper the impression that I have gone, I stand near a window close by.

Occasional lightning brings a harsh glow to the spot in which I stand, and roaring thunder follows it unfailingly. Being that I had finished my other tasks a while ago, I remain where I am, considering my next move. The only sound is that of the storm and the rain roughly colliding with the sides of the manor house.

Instead of coming to an understanding of what my next action should be involving my unanticipated company, I can only dwell on how he’s reacted to my words. The fact that he assumes sexual intentions over general intrigue easily shows his distrust for both me and my kind in general. He’s undoubtedly been taught that demons cannot be pleasant in any way. This alone would not bother me for I know that this is the norm, but his contempt at my desire for a partnership leaves a distasteful, personal wound.

I attempt to grasp why I am so affected by something so… insignificant. The rejection from one reaper should be little to nothing in the grand scheme of eternity, but it stung more than I would have expected. Perhaps I was somehow hoping that he and I – two unique, aware individuals – could destroy the eons of tension between our kinds… or at least be above it. Perhaps I’ve always had a strange interest in Grim Reapers and maybe wondered what their existence is like – how it would feel to be at peace in each other’s company.

It seems that I am especially interested in Spears. Other Grim Reapers have proven to be rather dull and hardly worth recognizing. Even Grell, supposedly the most peculiar of the English reapers, has failed to intrigue me. Ironically, William is rumored by other demons to be the dullest of them all yet he is the one that has captured my attention. Perhaps only dull on the surface, I sense that there is something hiding within him – within those eyes that still whisper stories.

The sound of sudden motion pulls me from my thoughts, and I realize that William must be taking the opportunity of my absence to flee from the manor. I realize that I do not want to stop him. I’ve caused enough distrust to flower between us already, and I don’t need to be creating more by trying to cage him in. I doubt, however, that I will be making much of a difference by not disrupting him; I’ve likely startled him to the point that he will now make a conscious effort to avoid me, no matter how I try to reconcile.

The sounds of movement cease. I imagine that he has escaped via the window in my quarters. Attempting now to forget my guest so he will no longer distract me from my current existence as the Phantomhive Butler, I lethargically return to my door. I almost consider sleeping until I must wake my master; after all, I have no tasks to occupy me and at least three hours left…

I open my door, and I immediately freeze when I realize that my guest has not left like I expected he had. Instead, he is now back in his suit (which now looks a little rumpled) and is again warily picking at the scones from where he sits on the edge of the bed. He flinches at my sudden entrance and looks up at me.

Before I can think to control it, my eyes grow wide and my lips part slightly.

William glares at me and his face reddens in the most amusing and intriguing way possible. “Why in Hell’s name are you gaping at me like that?” he queries in agitation.

I shake my head slightly to get over the shock that he is still here, and I find myself answering his question truthfully. “I just wasn’t expecting you to have remained when you were given the opportunity to escape…”

The reaper coolly raises an eyebrow, but the redness in his face deepens. In a move that surprises me even more, he takes up one of the scones and bites daringly into it.  
There is a lapse of silence as he chews, and after finding that no harm has come to him from eating, he takes another bite.

I almost smile at this, but I do not want to push my luck.

After watching him for about a minute, I move over to the side of the bed and retrieve my chair, but I situate it a little farther away from him so as to allow him some peace of mind. He’s about finished with the first scone when I speak again:

“Pardon me for inquiring about personal information, but if you’re willing to answer, what has brought you to such a damaged state?”

He is in the middle of bringing the scone to his mouth when I finish speaking, and he takes a frozen moment to consider my words. “… I was ambushed,” he answers vaguely, obviously not wanting me to know the details.

I know enough not to pry. If he is determined for me not to know, he won’t answer either way, so I simply ask, “Is that what happened to your death scythe?”

At first he appears surprised that I’m aware of this, but he then seems to recall that he had woken in my quarters nude and bandaged and likely understood that I had observed his lack of weapon during that time. He also seems to realize a neglected responsibility and sets down the tray. “I must find it.”

I blink a few times at this, and I furrow my brow. “You’re truly planning to go out in such weather?” As if agreeing with me, the sky lights up and thunder snarls.

Seemingly offended by my question, Spears purses his lips slightly before grumbling stubbornly, “It is just a storm.”

I am not very sure what causes me to be concerned for him; perhaps it’s his injuries, or the fact that he stumbles when he stands, or maybe it is for the reason that his mysterious attacker with evidential strength or wit is waiting with a death scythe as bait. Whatever the reason, I find myself dissuading him further. Eventually, William becomes aggravated.

“Why does this matter to you? My conflicts are none of your concern!” he snaps, his eyes sharp with irritation. “I am leaving no matter what you say, demon, so spare us both some time and desist!”

His words stop me short, and I silence myself. His argument is quite effective; what am I thinking? We are not companions – he had made that clear enough. It is not my obligation to worry for him simply for the reason that I’ve brought him into my Young Master’s home and have treated his injuries. He is an adult immortal with enough sense to make his own decisions.

Bitterly, I admit to myself that I cannot stop him.

Taking my silence as surrendering, William makes a gruff sound and obstinately makes his way to the window above the bed; at the same time, he seems to make an effort not to limp. Wrenching it open, he allows a rush of cold wind and rain to burst into the room. He manages to slip through to the other side despite his injuries, and without uttering another word, he springs off from the windowsill and disappears into the darkness, into the uncertain future.

Once he has gone, I quickly get to my feet and close the window, and I stand there facing it for a longer time than I would anticipate myself to. Regretting my willingness to release him, I commence the arduous task of saying farewell to the clocklike reaper, who is again stolen from me by the passing of time.

The time to rouse my Young Master comes before I am able to accept Spears’s absence.


	3. Chapter 3

It is morning now, and the storm outside has weakened some; however, for the fact that it still lingers, my master has not yet ventured out-of-doors. Due to the weather bringing lack of a finite schedule, he is dressed in casual attire and sits at the head of the dining table, awaiting his breakfast. His singular, sapphire eye scans a newspaper with disinterest, and he stirs at a steaming cup of tea.

Despite my severe lack of focus, I had somehow managed to prepare the Young Master a suitable morning meal. (I attribute it to how many times the task has been repeated over the years that I could do it without concentration.) I present the dish to him without comment and step away once again.

Ciel commences his breakfast, immediately going for one of the scones and covering it with jelly.

A moment of confusion passes over me; had I actually prepared scones for the Young Master? I don’t recall doing so… Is it truly possible that I was so distracted? Perhaps I still am, because the scone takes hold of me and wraps me in memories of last night. It appears that William T. Spears still prowls the shadows of my mind…

Flashes of his eyes and skin and ruffled hair and feral caution… I thought I had disencumbered myself of his distractive qualities several hours ago, but here I am, being drawn into him again by means of jelly-slathered pastries.

The folly within that statement needs no explanation.

My concern crashes over me soon after my remembrance; it occurs to me that last night could have not only been the last time I see William, but it could have also been the last time _anyone_ sees him again. I stifle a shiver and attempt to rid myself of the concept. Instead, I allow myself to think of better moments: our second meeting in the alley under the white glow of the moon when I had decided to commit him to memory, and his catlike grooming last night…

“Sebastian!”

I blink and refocus when I realize that Ciel is addressing me. He sounds irritated, and I suspect that I’ve made a mistake of some sort. I notice that he has finished his meal, and I wonder briefly how long I had been lost in thought. “… Yes, lord?”

“For the third time, are my activities for today cancelled or not?” he growls. His fingers are drumming at the table irritably.

I bow slightly and quickly reply, “My apologizes, sir… They are indeed; I don’t believe anyone will be travelling at this time, so I will reschedule your lessons…”

It is clear that he knows that something unordinary must be occurring for me to be unfocused like this, but for some reason, he does not seem interested in discovering the cause.

Instead, he returns to eyeing his paper and says, “Then fetch me a book and some biscuits… and if there is any mail, bring that to me, as well. I’ll be in my study.” With this, the Young Earl pushes back his chair, rises, and departs.

It is when My Lord has left that some clarity returns to me and I remember quite suddenly that I have neglected to reorganize my room after my night’s visitor. I chastise myself internally for neglecting something so important, and after collecting the dishes from Ciel’s breakfast and seeing to his other desires, I escape to my bedroom to clean.

It is worse than I remember it being. The sheets and mattress are stained with large quantities of blood, the cloth I had used to clean William’s injuries is dyed completely red, and bloody strips of gauze litter the ground and the bureau. Deeming the cloth unworthy of reuse, I rekindle the fire and toss it – along with the used bandages – into the fireplace for disposal.

The loss of blood – although not fatal to a reaper – would certainly be enough to weaken him... Perhaps I should have tried harder to stop him.

I go to the washroom to clean the needle I had used for Spears’s wounds and then return to address my bed linens. Clearly, this will be the more challenging part. I acknowledge with displeasure that I will need to either wash them or dispose of them. The latter, of course, is not ideal for I would need to purchase new ones to maintain the appearance that I sleep.

I decide that the easier method would be cleaning the articles; after all, if I could mend shattered gemstone, I could certainly manage blood stains of this magnitude. Thinking to work with the sheets before bothering with the mattress, I gather them up and head to the laundry room.

At a hasty stride, I round a sharp corner and – unfortunately – collide directly into the Phantomhive maid, Mey-Rin.

I manage to stay on my feet, but the bespectacled girl falls onto her backside rather clumsily, and it takes her a second to get over her dazed state. She fumbles with her spectacles, righting them after they had gone askew due to the collision, and then she looks up at me and emits a sound akin to a squawk.

“M-mister Sebastian – I’m s-so sorry! That was my fault, yes it was – I wasn’t watching where I was going, no-” she splutters as she springs to her feet, her face entirely red, but she freezes when she notes the bloodied linens in my arms. A perplexed look crosses her features as she attempts to find a reason for this strange turn of events, and I attempt to think of a reason to leave the scene and put my worries of her knowledge behind me. “W… what…?” she begins, but I interrupt her.

With a forced smile, I say, “No harm has been done, Mey-Rin. In fact, I am glad that we’ve crossed paths. As soon as you are able, I need for you to do some cleaning in the kitchen. You see, Bardroy insisted on helping with breakfast this morning.” Fortunately, this is the truth; even when I had taken care of most of the cooking on my own, he had still managed to cause a mess. “I would do it myself but I’m afraid I haven’t the time. Can you handle this for me?”

I recognize the precise moment in which the maid convinces herself that her eyes must be playing tricks on her, and her expression changes from one of confusion to one of determination. “Y-yes, you can count on me!”

“Thank you kindly, Mey-Rin. If there is anything that is too damaged to fix, just let me know and I can take care of it tonight.” With this said, I start walking again, and I remind myself to be much more vigilant as I continue to rid the manor house of any signs of the unscheduled visitor.

-

Afternoon comes around, and the rain is finally letting up a considerable degree. The roads, however, are quite muddy and are likely not yet safe for travel by carriage.

Considering the condition of the roads and his tenuous health for once, the Young Master entrusts me with overdue errands put off due to the storm, and as they would never think to leave Ciel alone in the manor house, the other servants decide to stay with the Young Lord. This, of course, suits me just fine; I’ll be capable of moving much quicker without the extra burden of the bumbling help and a weak and impatient Earl. I set out on these duties right away, taking an umbrella and making my way into town.

As is expected, the streets and shops are not as bustling as they typically are, and I am able to go about my tasks in a quicker manner by avoiding having to wait in queues. Among my many sundry duties for the afternoon, I restock on ingredients for cooking, place a couple of orders for the Young Master, and purchase a new hedge trimmer for Finnian. (He had somehow managed to break his previous one.)

By the time I have finished with my errands, the clouds and rain are beginning to clear, revealing the descending sun. In my arms, I carry bags and parcels as I head back in the direction of the manor.

On my way out of town, however, I’m stopped by a familiar (and frankly unpleasant) individual:

“Oh, is that really you, Sebastian darling?” purrs a voice from the side of a back street.

I stop and turn in the direction of the speaker, already recognizing the owner of the voice as Grell Sutcliff. Of course, I’m not surprised to see him again; I anticipated that I would… This acknowledgment fails to make the situation less irksome, however.

“I believe you have the wrong man,” I declare plainly, but Grell continues as if he didn’t hear my statement of distaste.

“I didn’t expect us to meet again for some time… How have you been? The little brat isn’t working you too hard, is he?” He displays his wily, toothy smile and leans back against the brick building behind him, folding his arms over his chest. From his figure still hangs his memento of the days of Jack the Ripper: the red coat once worn by my Young Master’s aunt.

Desiring to be rid of the crimson death god in order to return to the manor, I respond, “Don’t you think it more appropriate that you be completing your duties as a Grim Reaper rather than idling about and pestering me?”

The redhead emits an overdramatized noise of irritation and flings himself away from the wall to stomp and pout. “Oh, you sound just like Will! You know, I’m quite furious with him; he didn’t show up for work today – heartlessly leaving me up to my eyeballs in overtime! I enjoy his wintriness on occasion, but this certainly crosses the line! No one seems to understand that a woman needs her beauty sleep! I’ll be up all night at this rate!”

Grell continues his tirade unrelentingly, but at this point, I have stopped hearing him. I am caught on the phrase ‘…he didn’t show up for work.’ _William… What has happened to him?_ Surely it can be no happenstance that he fails to appear for work on the very same morning that he dedicates himself to retrieving his death scythe from an unknown opponent…

With rekindled and now justifiable disquiet, I redirect myself and head back in the direction of the Phantomhive manor without bidding Grell a proper valediction. The red-haired reaper calls after me in confusion and irritation, but he does not follow or attempt to stop me.

My mind reels at this new information. I’m consumed by the prospect of the icy reaper’s demise.

-

That evening, I am tormented by my thoughts, which run rampant at the most inopportune times and haunt me when all of my daytime tasks are through. I am distracted as I prepare my master for bed, and as soon as I am free of him, I escape to my bedroom, where I pace concernedly.

Unanswered questions are the source of my anguish. Most if not all, of course, involve William T. Spears. His captivity of my mind has seemed to evolve to encompass my emotions; of course, to have entered my thoughts so persistently, he would have had to possess an influence on my feelings already (The heart and the mind are linked, after all.), but surely not on this level. Other than my intrigue, he now carries with him my emotions of anxiety and fear… and he also appears to have taken my sensibility – all without even trying to.

I can only imagine what ilk of hold he would have on me if we were closer and if he were actually putting in the effort to ensnare me… How utterly useless I would be.

Of course, my current relationship with Spears is a minor one, and I question how I could possibly be this concerned over someone I scarcely know… this is just another question added to the list building in my head.

There are not many available options for me at this time; I am aware that I will not be at peace until I can find some answers.

Unable to endure any longer, I steal away as soon as I know that the Young Master and the other servants are asleep so that I may search for Spears (or at least distract myself and pretend that my effort makes a difference).

-

Again, I find myself in town. The light of the pale moon and a growing fog causes the essence of London to change remarkably. Once welcoming to everyday people, the streets are now menacing to those who know not how to traverse them at night. Alleys and rooftops become meeting places for demons and other such beings.

The concept of creatures lurking, of course, never much concerned me, but there is something amiss on this particular night in London. I cannot quite place it…

I remain vigilant as I walk, making certain to look out for any signs of threat. For almost ten minutes, there are no stirrings at all. It is as if I am alone completely (which is rather peculiar when the population of London is considered).

Finally, there is a whisper of a sound some distance off ahead of me. As it grows louder – and its producer nearer – I am able to analyze it in greater detail: the soft clap of shoes made heavy by some sort of ailment; the footfalls are quick – the next step taken before the one previous can even stop reverberating through the street – so much so that they wouldn’t have been discernible as footfalls at all had they been observed by a human… Thus, an immortal being, hasty and impaired in some way, comes in my direction. I duck behind a corner so as to not be seen and to observe the situation without direct involvement.

The creator of the footfalls, however, decides to take the same turn that I have and narrowly avoids crashing into me.

Startled, he manages to maneuver his body away from mine, but by doing so, he stumbles backwards, almost tripping over his own feet. After this, however, he freezes before me. It gives me the opportunity to recognize him.

It’s William. (How is it that we always manage to so conveniently cross paths?) He now possesses more damage to his person than the previous time I had seen him:

The first thing I notice is that his nose is bleeding; next, I take in his new bruises and cuts; and finally, I realize that he is painfully cradling his right arm. (It’s certainly broken.) In his eyes is brazen fear.

It is difficult to imagine the sort of opponent needed to deter William T. Spears to such a degree, but as soon as I begin to wonder who could have done this, my question is answered.

The sound of more running footfalls – a grouping of them – emerges from the distance.

Hearing this, Spears’s eyes widen further. He looks me over a moment as if assessing my level of reliability, and then his gaze darts back to the main street from which we had both recently come before he makes himself small and slinks – like a terrified, wounded animal – into the shadows of the side street.

It is surprising to me that William so willingly submits to a state of weakness at this time; it is proof that he is badly injured and recognizes his own vulnerability… At that moment, I decide that whatever is transpiring now involves me. Displaying the opposite demeanor of Spears, I reenter the main street.

A group of nine demons emerges at a charge from the fog, and at the sight of me, they halt. It is clear to me almost immediately who this group’s leader is: a lanky male with cropped blue hair and a black cloak who stands at the front of the group. His glowing eyes peer uninterestedly at me from under his hood, and they seem to emit a deadly intelligence.

Taking his time, the leader of the troop leisurely stretches his arms above his head. This action shifts the position of his cloak, allowing the moonlight to glint off a metal object underneath it. It only takes me a moment to recognize this object secured to his side like a trophy as William’s death scythe.

I feel a twist of anger afflict my insides at the understanding of what is occurring. This pack is the clear cause of William’s state and has perhaps been antagonizing him since before he appeared injured at the manor.

Seeming to know that my attention has been captured, he smiles in an overly pleasant way and speaks.

“My compatriots and I search for a peevish-looking fellow with spectacles and a suit. Have you seen such a man in the recent?”

The logical part of me informs me to feign ignorance and allow the group to pass without discovering William’s presence, but my obstinacy flares up, and I suddenly desire vengeance for the injured reaper; I will not allow them to continue on without first reclaiming Spears’s death scythe.

A snarl contorts my features. “I have indeed, but what I did not see was the weapon that should rightfully accompany him. Perhaps I am mistaken, but it seems that you, sir, have it with you now.”

My response seems to mildly bemuse the blue-haired male. “Oh, is one of our kin siding with a death god? Very curious indeed… But I’m afraid that this became mine under fair circumstances; I earned it through battle.”

“And I assume your fellows here fought alongside you? Demons don’t always fight fair, but stating evenhandedness when there is none is a poor argument at best. That is no prize of battle you carry – it is merely a stolen belonging. I will see to it that it is returned to its rightful owner.”

His face twists in both wry amusement and irritation. “Very well, then,” he hisses. Raising his hand, he signals his pack to advance.

The group splits around their leader and regroups as one body in front of him. And with systematic intelligence, they attack.

I am immediately surrounded. There seems to be a strategy already in place, and I can only imagine that it was their clever leader who developed it. As one attacks from the front, another comes in from behind. I can tell from the first hit that this fight will be challenging.

My first action is to remove myself from the circle of opponents and procure a vantage point. Knowing that more of my strength is required for this fight, I allow my human shroud to fall. In a plume of black feathers, I employ my true form.

Unfurling my wings effortlessly knocks the startled troop away, allowing me enough time to spring to a rooftop. Without hesitation, they pursue.

I continue with my dodging techniques and attempt to direct the group further away from Spears’s hiding place, but eventually, the first drops of blood – a harbinger of future and more severe damage – are spilt; one among the troop slices deep at my face with his claws.

I can tell immediately that my eyes have been damaged, and although it won’t take long to heal from such an injury, it will possibly give my opponents enough time to turn the tables. A strong kick sends me backward, but I still manage to land on my feet. Knowing that my eyes will be of no use to me at this time, I concentrate on my other senses in order to continue fighting.

Dodging a kick on my right, I take hold of the demon who is attempting to obtain a position behind me, and I throw him over my head into one of his cohorts. However, I don’t expect the clean slice made into my thigh.

I gasp and internally berate myself for forgetting about the leader; in fact, it should have been him who I was most wary of because he is the only one who possesses a weapon that can kill me.

William’s death scythe is painfully removed from my leg, but before I can attack again, I am restrained by the leader’s henchmen. Now that the chaos has subsided (although the danger has not), I can hear the blue-haired demon’s unhurried stride accompanied by the scrape and tap of the tip of Spears’s weapon being dragged against the rooftop.

“I have to admit, I had my hopes up that our brawl with you would be entertaining… but my patience has grown thin, and it is about time my men and I return to our search for your reaper friend,” the leader declares casually. By the sound of his voice, I know that he is coming closer, but it still comes at a shock when William’s death scythe is plunged into my torso.

A little too late to be helpful, my eyes have now fully healed, and I open them with a noise of pain. The weapon is slowly twisted, and I watch the dark ardor emerge on the leader’s face.

“The Grim Reaper is a feeble creature with so many weaknesses to exploit, and those who sympathize for the weak are weak, as well! _You_ …” he accentuates this word by driving the blade in deeper. “… are ignominious to our kind. I would find absolute pleasure in ending you here and now; indeed, there’s nothing to stop me. You speak of _playing fair_ … Well, let me tell you – before I kill you – that there is no use in equality! Equality is against the very core of surviv-”

To my astonishment, a knife appears from behind the leader’s cloak and slices deeply into his throat, effectually ending both his words and the pressure placed on the blade in my torso. The weapon falls with a clatter to the rooftop, and the leader collapses face-first before me and his henchmen. Behind him is William, holding the aforementioned knife.

“Indeed, playing fair _is_ futile when one thinks about it,” Spears mumbles, adjusting his spectacles with his left hand – the same one that holds his small yet assistive weapon. He strolls across the temporarily disabled body of the group’s leader, wiping the bottom of his shoe on his blue locks for good measure, before reclaiming his death scythe and slowly pulling its blade from my body.

The henchmen are so preoccupied by Spears’s poise that they don’t expect the bloodied tip of the death scythe to come whipping in their direction; a stunned demon receives a decently sized lash across his face, and another gets speckled by blood.

“We all know that your leader serves as the only sort of intelligence for your posse, and without his guidance, you would never hope to defeat both a demon of this one’s caliber and an armed reaper; make this easier for yourselves and leave now.” William says concisely, pointing his death scythe at the bunch. With a strange fluidity to his movements, he casually kicks the deadened leader, and his body rolls off the side of the building, landing heavily on the cobblestone below.

It appears that Spears has had an impact on the group because they release me and meekly depart to retrieve their boss. They disappear into the fog and do not return.

I release a breath in relief, but before I can relax, William is upon me.

“Are you honestly such an idiot that you’d fight when clearly outnumbered and unarmed?” he snaps, his tone at its regular severity, but when I look up into his eyes, I see something there that almost appears like… gratitude.

My expression must hold some sort of acknowledgement that his façade is slipping because his cheeks turn an almost unnoticeable pink. Averting his gaze from mine, he sits down with his death scythe. He produces a cloth from his suit jacket and – without the use of his right arm – holds the weapon up in between his knees and begins to wipe the blood from it.

“… That blue-haired beast clearly did not know how to properly use my weapon; I will have no choice but to have repairs done… I swear that the next time I see his face, it will be impaled by my blade…” He grumbles under his breath as if he is attempting to lessen the silence but still avoid communication with me. He seems to be struggling with using only one arm…

“Are you terribly injured?” I query before I can stop myself.

His greenish eyes lock on mine for a moment before returning to his death scythe. He replies, “Well, certainly not as badly as you are…” As if realizing that his words verge on compassion, he continues hastily, “I do not need your concern; I will mend.”

Silence unspools into the air surrounding us. I use the moment to staunch the flow of blood from my wound. (I know that I will have to take a closer look at the injury later.) About five minutes pass. The only sounds I can hear are the distant barking of a dog, the quiet cry of a woken infant, and William sliding that piece of cloth along his weapon. I know that by now his weapon is clean and he is just trying to avoid talking, but I don’t mind; there is something about the situation that feels right – sitting together in silence after a brawl we had both taken part in (on the same side, at that)… the world still moving around us… breathing in late-night London…

Why couldn’t it always be like this?

“… Yes,” William suddenly says, very softly, pulling me back into reality.

I blink several times, trying to make sense of this utterance… _Yes?_

“… Yes to what?” I finally ask, rather perplexed.

Spears goes rigid and turns to look in the opposite direction so that I can’t see his face. He adjusts his spectacles rather frantically, and there’s an edge to his voice now that’s somehow amusing. “You desired an alliance, did you not? I am saying ‘yes’!”

Again, I’m left blinking in befuddlement at his words. “You… You’re accepting?”

“How many times do I have to say it?!”

I stifle a grin (of both pleasure and amusement) and attempt to respond, “All ri-”

“If I end up regretting this decision, then I will kill you.” He states this as if it is a fact rather than a threat, but his eyes possess a look of frustration and embarrassment.

“I assure you that you won’t.”

I extend my hand for him to shake, but he leans away from my reach and eyes it distrustfully.

I withdraw, but I think to myself with silent satisfaction, _At least we’re getting somewhere._


	4. Chapter 4

The early morning air is surprisingly warm; it rushes inland, carrying the scent of salt water and fishery. The soft breaths of wind wrap around my form as I gaze out at the waters, which reflect a fragmented version of the fiery sunrise – hues of red, yellow, and orange.

Several minutes ago, my thoughts had taken hold of me, prompted by the unique and auspicious occurrence I am a part of: it is the first time that William Spears and I have come together intentionally with a mutual goal in mind.

The more recent subject that I inspect from so many different angles within my thoughts is William’s change of heart. He had accepted my entreaty for an alliance, and now that we are a team, I wonder just why he had chosen this…

Considering his rational nature, I hypothesize that this is strategic in some manner. Because I am now bound to assist him during his collections (as a protector against my hungry kin), perhaps his goal in this coalition was to benefit his otherworldly duties and perfect his already clocklike efficiency.

But I am also reminded of the charming look of intrigue that sometimes passes over his features; perhaps… he was merely curious? Was he drawn in by my ‘un-demon’ behavior and acts of altruism and – despite the risk – decided to accept?

From my thoughtful state, I recognize that the very reaper I think so deeply upon stands somewhere to my right, collecting the soul of a recently deceased subject. At this early morning hour, we are the only two present on this side of town, but eventually, humans will emerge from their homes and someone will come across the body of a young woman near the seafront.

I hear his death scythe retract, and the flipping of pages begins. After only a moment, the sheets of paper cease moving. “You, come here,” William commands simply.

I look in his direction and see that he has stopped on a particular page in one of his Death ledgers. He taps the surface of the page with his gloved index finger as a silent beckon.

I intend to comply but not without some prodding first. Inclining my head slightly, I feign puzzlement and say, “‘You’? Is that my name now?”

Without lifting his nose from the book, he glares from the corner of his eye in my direction, already sensing mischief. “Well, I know that your name is not Sebastian Michaelis, demon; that is what your food calls you.”

“Oh, another one: ‘you’ and ‘demon’ – what a lovely growing list of titles I have,” I reply teasingly.

“Stop talking and come over here,” he spits, losing patience. “Honestly, I help you with a murder case and this is how you repay me?”

“Not so. In fact, I believe it is you who is repaying me for my assistance with your reapings…” I counter, but I decide to quit there before he starts angrily adjusting his spectacles because I had recently discovered that this is often the point of no return; he will be irritable for the remainder of our errands if I prod too much.

Finally, I join him and look over his shoulder at the page he indicates.

“This is your man,” he says, pointing at a face in the book. I nod as if appreciating this information, but in truth, I had already discovered this fact some time ago.

In actuality, I didn’t need William’s assistance with this case… but my desire for his presence was indefatigable. Thus, I made the excuse to him that I was troubled with an assignment from my master. Despite his effort to help me being futile, he still repays me here for my defenses… Merely, it is in a way that he doesn’t recognize.

As Spears elaborates on how he came to this answer so that I can reiterate these findings to the Young Lord, I lose focus on the words and find myself instead observing their producer.

William’s sharp eyes still focus on the text and faces within the ledger before him; they flash with some sort of keenness as he communicates the stream of thoughts that led him to our serial murderer. At the thought of the words he speaks that I do not bother listening to, I realize that I have never very deeply observed his facial features – apart from his eyes – before. This leads me directly to his mouth. Despite his many angular features, his lips are inversely soft in appearance. With his mouth, he utters quite accurately and fluently what originates from his mind.

And yes, his mind is another thing that I’ve failed to observe in detail. Although I had already committed his surface emotions and thoughts to memory, what really captures me is the concept of what could be hidden deep within – guarded and locked away. What causes his eyes to light up with intrigue? What worries him? What does he fear? My desire to know overwhelms my previous thoughts of logic – of relenting from my mischief.

“What you said earlier about my master…” I begin, interrupting William midsentence. “You claimed he was my ‘food.’ He is not merely such.”

Clearly ruffled by my discourteous intrusion, the reaper counters sourly, “Oh, my apologies. He is your _lover_ , as well, yes?”

This sort of comment from William, of course, I am not anticipating, but I manage quickly to turn the statement in my favor. “You need not be envious of my master, Spears. I was going to say that he serves as a source of entertainment at the same time as being my next meal. You may relieve yourself of your concerns; he will certainly not be a source of competition for you.”

Immediately, his face grows bright red – redder than I have ever seen it thus far; it seems to be the perfect combination of uncomfortable topics and humiliation at falling victim to his own taunt to leave him incapable of producing a strong retort to my suggestive words. Instead, he stutters in agitation while adjusting his spectacles:

“E-enough of your twaddle! We – _I_ have business to attend to!”

-

My master walks just ahead of me on the cobblestone street, his walking stick at his side and his attention directed forward. His focus, like always, seems firmly set on the future, and today’s future holds errands involving the killer that I had just this morning given him information on; together with me, the Young Lord seeks to procure information on the man’s whereabouts so that he can be apprehended.

Early this morning, I was William’s ally, and now that it is noon, I am Ciel Phantomhive’s shadow and loyal servant. This only serves to remind me how secretive my meetings with Spears have been; apart from our first encounter during the killings by Jack the Ripper, my Young Lord has been ignorant of his presence, even when the reaper was taking refuge in his very own manor. I wonder briefly if such secrecy – if discovered – would be reason enough for a punishment.

Although he is young, my master has always been quite accomplished at making me suffer for inaccuracies, but even with this knowledge, I had found it difficult to leave Spears for the day to return to my duties as a butler. There are perhaps a handful of reasons for my want to deviate from my obligations to my master to spend time with my ally:

The first and most obvious contrast would be age; despite perhaps being mature for an adolescent, Phantomhive still possesses the ignorance of youth – only able to focus on bits and pieces of reality rather than the overarching picture. He is like a horse strapped to a carriage, only knowing one direction and unable to see beyond that. For someone who has existed as long as I, it can be rather tedious to invest time in one so self-focused as the Young Lord.

The second is the alluring sense of freedom presented within my alliance with William. Although I am still – in some sense – working (albeit for a different individual), the ability to decide for myself my actions and my words is certainly enjoyable. These momentary encounters with Spears could be viewed as transitory distractions from my true purpose as Ciel Phantomhive’s contracted demon, but they are welcome disruptions from the dull burden that I have accepted to obtain a meal.

This perhaps leads me to a third point:

Despite everything else that could repel me from a stronger interest in my master, the defining factor is that he – as has been mentioned by Spears – is indeed food. My intention is to consume his soul; therefore, I could never really hope to develop a friendship with him. With more connection seeming to have developed between myself and William rather than with my master, my desire to idle at Spears’s side, I believe, is understandable.

I return to the present when my young master turns in the direction of Scotland Yard, wherein he intends to discuss the recent case with detectives (merely to check for any scraps of information to assist in our investigating) before making a move on his own.

Perhaps I have spent too much time on this errand looking at my master’s negative attributes. Fortunately, this structure manages to remind me of something that I deeply admire about the Young Earl: at least he is not as dim as these people.

-

Spears and I have been partners for more than a week now. So far, I have managed to avoid any entanglement between the responsibilities I have to both my alliance and my contract, and my master still seems to suspect nothing.

William has been trying his utmost to keep a comfortable and professional distance from me, but since that morning at the ocean’s side when I first observed how ruffled I could make him, I’ve admittedly been making it difficult for him to do so. I can’t help myself, really; his expressions of vexation and embarrassment truly intrigue me.

Throughout this week, I have managed to achieve that fluster in him – often by breaching his mental and physical comfort zones. It has become apparent firstly that he does not enjoy being close to me; stepping within a certain unmarked boundary near his person without his permission leaves him – for whatever reason – quite frustrated.

Secondly, Spears seems to hold a discomfort for lewd implications and references to sexual or romantic intimacy between us. An amusing example of such would be from two days ago when I – out of boredom – struck up a conversation with a young woman at a floral shop, asking for a bouquet of her most charming flowers and alluding to a romantic involvement between myself and William, who was at the time preoccupied at a coffeehouse nearby. I made quite a show of giving the bouquet to him, which caused his face to turn the most amusing shade of crimson. He was so furious that he berated me for the next hour or so after that, and it was very difficult for me not to laugh.

Truthfully, I am unsure what happened to that bouquet.

It is nighttime presently and William and I are on our way to his home in the Reaper’s Realm; he has informed me that he forgot something of extreme importance there that needs attending to.

Already my more wicked side is rising to the surface and devising something mischievous.

Spears advises me to stay in the human realm before he passes through the portal to his world, but at the risk of boredom, I follow behind him and join him at his front door.

My reaper companion immediately knows that I’m trailing and hisses at me in irritation and admonition. He knows, however, that by this point it would do more harm than good to expend more time out in the open trying to shoo me away, so he allows me to enter his home.

As he sees to whatever pressing matter there was here out of sight, I snoop around the entryway, examining with intrigue his belongings and finalizing my devious plan. When he returns, I set it into motion.

“You know… if you desired for me to join you in your quarters, it would have been much easier just to ask… rather than coming up with an excuse to drop by…”

An apprehensive look crosses his features; he seems to recognize when I am up to something now. “There was no excuse. I truly needed to see to something… and let me make myself clear – I did not invite you here in any way. In fact, I told you to wait in town, and you completely disregarded-”

“Now, now, no need for that. I do recall that being what you said… but your body language contradicted it.”

William clearly doesn’t know what to say at this point. He furrows his brow and narrows his eyes a little in befuddlement, and his mouth opens and closes in an almost fishlike manner as he puzzles over how to even reply.

Before he can form a response, I move toward him and wrap my arm around his waist, pulling him against me. Immediately, he forgets about replying and goes rigid. He appears so stunned, in fact, that he doesn’t say anything at all; he merely stares at me and gapes. Since he still seems confused about my meaning, I add in a low, sultry tone, “Where is your bedroom?”

I expect embarrassed stuttering and red-tinged cheeks, but I get the opposite; I actually watch as the color drains from William’s face, and with unforeseen hostility, he strikes out at me.

This isn’t the type of clout the Young Master would deliver. There is no noticeable restraint as he punches me squarely in the jaw with enough force that I release him and stumble a little on my feet.

Spears snarls, his gaze both furious and frightened. “You tactless beast! I have had enough of you and your indecent behavior! I have given you far too many chances to prove yourself of any worth, and all I have gotten in return was your torment and disrespect!”

Having been caught off guard by this, I defend myself rather poorly. “Certainly you didn’t suspect I would actually harm you-”

“How could I have possibly assumed that, you imbecile?! I know nothing of demons excluding that they steal souls, prey on the weak, and kill my kind, and you have made it plainly obvious that you know nothing of Grim Reapers, either! So far in our alliance, you have increasingly shown that you only care to toy with my emotions; it has come to the point where I am not even sure what to expect – perhaps you _shall_ harm me!”

His words have effectively silenced me, and he takes the opportunity to slowly exhale, trying to steady himself. He is no longer shouting, but his tone is still just as venomous as before.

“For how you’ve mistreated me, I refuse to collaborate with you any longer. From this moment on, our alliance is terminated.”

Based on William’s words prior to this, I anticipated the ending of our alliance, but it is still very unpleasant. I attempt to make amends on the spot. “Listen here, I apologize-”

“Don’t you dare!” Spears nearly growls. “You’re like every other demon! You are manipulative, and you are only saying that because you believe that is what I wish to hear – you are not truly remorseful!”

Perhaps it is strange, but at this moment, I am unsure whether he is correct or not. Am I remorseful? I cannot decide because I am too agitated by William having lumped me together with all the others of my kind.

Taking my silence as confirmation, William declares – more to himself, “I haven’t the faintest of what came over me to give this partnership a chance.” His eyes connect directly into mine now, and they are positively and most uncomfortably icy. “Leave, you fiend. I will continue my collections on my own.”

My obstinacy rises at my once-partner’s words. Defiantly, I stand my ground. I intend to leave on my own terms instead of his.

However, it does not seem to matter whether I hold firm or not; before I can react, Spears quickly pounces forward, gripping tightly to the lapels of my suit jacket. “ _Leave_ ,” he utters through clenched teeth, and I am swiftly pushed through a portal out of the Reaper’s Realm. There is a flash of silver light, and I then fall rear-first into an alley in Bristol.

I swear I see the brief burning of Spears’s ireful, deadly eyes as the portal collapses before me with a most peculiar and unsettling hiss, like fire doused in water.


	5. Chapter 5

Yes, I am remorseful.

And yes, I am a fiend.

These are the things that I’ve decided within the last three hours as I walk from Bristol in the direction of London.

I don’t often feel regretful or admit to being the culpable one in a dispute, but this seems to be one of those unique moments where both apply, and William T. Spears is the catalyst.

With time to contemplate, I realize that I did indeed have no intention of harming William – either physically or emotionally. Unfortunately, it hadn’t turned out that way: rather, I had foolishly and uncouthly placed my own interests above my promise to him that he would not regret our partnership.

I remember my moments of admiration for Spears… Separating myself from the arrogance that had been blinding me, I realize that I had betrayed the trust of that very same being simply out of boredom, and if it wasn’t for that, he and I would still be allies… An occurrence like this is certainly worth punishment on my part.

William calling off our alliance – although rightfully deserved – is not great enough of a penalty for the acts I have committed, and because of my level of power, physical pain isn’t, either. Obviously, the punishment must befit the crime; it seems only fair that Spears is the one to choose what that would entail. The only questions now are: how do I find William again, and how do I persuade him to accept my repentance?

Doubt begins to gnaw at the edges of my thoughts… Perhaps our chance encounters have finally ended, and our luck of seeing each other has run out. The very concept of such pains me; to have no choice but to leave things as they are…

I recall the way that Spears reacted only three hours ago… I remember that he was angry, but more importantly, I remember that he was afraid. It seems that the fear was always there, growing more and more prominent, but I was oblivious to it until tonight. I berate myself silently for not noticing it sooner and for potentially allowing those emotions to be the last he will associate with me.

I fear that I’ve damaged his impression of me and reinforced his idea of the wickedness of demons. To be perfectly honest, however, there is indeed quite a bit of truth to the notion. I pride myself in being far more civilized than the others of my kind, but even I still lack understanding for many of the nuances of human emotion and expression. I find it all unnecessarily complex. It is unfortunate that this set of mannerisms is one of the commonalities reapers have with humans.

While demons understand enough of humans to prey on their limitations, to make one truly happy is something that has never been attempted before. And to befriend our rival, the Grim Reaper, is an anomaly at its best. If anything, it would be an easier task to accomplish with a human because the eons of strife do not exist between us like they do with demons and reapers. It seems as if a reaper’s fear of demons is partially taught by previous generations – not merely through personal experiences.

I wonder – with mild resentment – if William was taught this fear, as well…

Realizing that my brooding thoughts on the tragedy between demons and reapers have caused me to deviate from the area in which my focus should be entirely placed, I return to my previous questions concerning William. How to reach him again would indeed be the first question in need of answering because the latter of the two – to get him to accept my apology – would depend on Spears himself. (In that regard, I’ll have no choice but to improvise.)

It is when I’m entering London again that an answer – not one that will guarantee success but an answer nonetheless – dawns upon me:

Undertaker.

-

It has been almost exactly forty-eight hours since Spears terminated our alliance, and I now stand before an eerie shop in a side street in London. It is The Undertaker’s funeral parlor.

I feel that a sufficient amount of time has passed for William to have settled down after our dispute, and I intend to approach him now. To do so, however, I need a reaper to grant me passage into their realm.

As a former Grim Reaper and often a neutral party in most situations, The Undertaker seems like the best possible candidate for offering me assistance (which is why I am currently here, standing in front of his place of business). However, he is the eccentric, unpredictable sort; it is difficult to know if he will decide to protect his fellow reapers or if he will accept my request and open an entrance to the Reaper’s Realm so that I may pass through. Despite the uncertainty, it is my best course of action at this time.

Without further delay, I enter The Undertaker’s establishment.

The door emits a forlorn creak as I step inside, almost as if it is meant to replace the chime of a shopkeeper’s bell. After a short pause, a voice greets me, although the producer cannot be seen.

“It’s late and the butler’s prowling around by himself… How interesting…” Unsurprisingly, the mortician emerges from the shadows behind me and draws almost uncomfortably close. Grinning wildly like he nearly always does, he inquires with poorly concealed enthusiasm, “Now… don’t tell me you’re here to get your dying master fitted for one of my special coffins tonight…! What a surprise that would be!” Cackling gleefully, the veteran reaper ambles over to a large coffin near the other side of the room and plops down onto it amusedly.

“But alas, that’s not it, is it?” he continues in his dry, crackling voice. He folds his hands under his chin and eyes me expectantly. Although his gaze is covered by strands of his silvery hair, I can feel it boring into me. “What have you come here for, hm?”

Not wishing to waste time unnecessarily, I openly answer the question. “I am on my own business tonight, and I desire admittance into the Reaper’s Realm.”

If it is even possible, The Undertaker’s grin appears to widen. “My, my… Phantomhive’s pet isn’t misbehaving, is he? What sort of business – as you say – would a demon have among reapers?”

“I can assure you that I have no malicious intentions… Merely, there have been recent happenings involving a certain individual, and I must atone for them,” I reply plainly.

“Ahh, I see, I see… It’s difficult for demons and reapers to be friends, hm? Well, you haven’t been a very malevolent demon for quite some time… I’ll allow it.”

An internal relief washes over me; now I am one step closer to where I must be.

After a brief pause, The Undertaker continues, “Of course, I still require payment… Give me that, and you’re free to be on your way.”

-

As I step through the portal into the Reaper’s Realm, I can hear the mortician’s dying fit of laughter.

“Good luck!” his distant voice calls cheerily amongst his giggles. I’m starting on my way when he adds quickly: “Oh, and do give Mr. Spears my greetings!” Instantly after this statement, the portal closes.

I find myself frozen for a moment due to shock. Could he really know where I am headed? I decide that I haven’t the time to think about that, however; I must find William’s residence before I am seen.

Despite all the houses looking quite similar to each other, I manage to recognize Spears’s after several minutes and approach. I’m wary of being spotted by any passing reapers, but I take the time to knock and stand at the front door. After all, I’m sure that it wouldn’t improve the situation between us if I entered uninvited into his home.

The door opens before me. Spears’s expression immediately darkens when we lock eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if he slammed the door in my face and left me there on his front stoop.

“Oh… I had a feeling that it would be you… How unfortunate… How did a beast such as yourself even manage to get back in here?” His tone is icy and impersonal, but I don’t allow this to deter me.

I intend to respond earnestly, but William continues, stopping me from doing so.

“Actually, the answer to that does not matter; the sooner I can be rid of you, the better. What do you want?”

“I would like to apologize for the other night.”

In response to this, Spears emits a derisive sound and wrinkles his nose.

“It hadn’t crossed my mind that my actions could harm you. I was acting foolishly, and for that I sincerely apologize.”

Likely having not anticipated a direct apology from me, his expression now is a mix of bewilderment and doubt. He is silent for several seconds as if considering very carefully how he should respond. Slowly, he steps out of the doorway and says, “Come inside before someone sees you. We will talk.”

I step through the threshold and remind myself simultaneously that although I have been successful so far, I still have not fully appeased William and must be cautious not to upset him again. I keep a good distance from him and wait for further invitation before acting.

Spears gestures to an armchair in the living room as he closes the door. I sit as directed, and he sits in the identical chair on the opposite side of the coffee table.

“So what was this nonsense about being apologetic?” he inquires. He rubs at his temple, seeming impatient, weary, and skeptical all at once.

“Contrary to what you may believe, I am indeed remorseful,” I say. “And that is the sole reason for my coming here – to see if our conflict can be resolved.”

“It cannot be resolved – because you are correct about one thing: I do not believe you.” I can hear the shift in William’s tone, indicating that his agitation is on the rise.

Being doubly cautious now, I ask, “What can I do to prove my sincerity?”

“There is nothing you can accomplish now! I gave you a plethora of opportunities to change my mind about you and your kind, but in the end, you have shown that you are just as awful as _they_ were!”

This phrasing definitely catches my attention. It is clear at this point that there is more to the situation than I had originally assumed.

“Who is this ‘they’ you speak of?”

Spears visibly blanches at the realization that he had let more information loose than desired. He says nothing for a while and leans forward in his chair, holding his head in his hands. It’s evident by his demeanor that he is pained in some way.

I don’t know how to react to this, so I quietly remain where I am, watching him fixedly.

Eventually, William straightens up, runs his fingers through his hair, and emits a long sigh. “My father was killed by demons about eighty years ago,” he says suddenly, a somber edge to his voice. I see the pain in his eyes although he appears to be trying his utmost to remain composed.

Of course, I am caught off guard by this declaration, especially because I see no reason for him to trust me with such personal information as this. But I somehow find myself asking him, “Was he a collector-?”

“No!” he barks, his sudden level of intensity causing me to start. The pain he was trying to hide moments before has exploded into full view; a snarl is prominent on his features, he is rigid, and he grips so tightly to the arms of his chair that his knuckles are white. With notable strain, he continues: “He had a position in Spectacles, and he had not handled a single soul during his entire employment. He was simply on an errand for my mother when he was attacked. His only means of defending himself was a knife not much larger than a damned letter opener!” The rage in his voice had gradually risen as he spoke, and he is now breathing heavily, on the verge of either tears or hysteria (or perhaps both). Once he collects himself a little, the former seems more likely.

William hunches forward despairingly and pinches the bridge of his nose as if he has a headache. With his gaze directed to the floor, he adds quietly, “My mother became very distant for fifty years after that… Neither of us was able to recover completely…”

It is at this time that I understand that William’s fear was not simply taught to him; it is instead a personal scar – a wound still deep despite the passage of time. Learning this information has caused a new wave of guilt to wash over me.

It is quiet for a time before I speak. My voice is not much louder than a murmur. “My sincere condolences…”

“Don’t pretend that you care,” Spears hisses, looking at something to my far left; clearly, he doesn’t want to make eye contact. I suspect that he might be tearing up, so I politely keep my gaze to the floor.

“I mean what I say,” I reply. “I am not unfamiliar with loss, either. Our kinds are constantly feuding, after all, so it is rare for anyone to go unscathed... Perhaps it is a pitiable fantasy, but I have always wondered what it would be like for reapers and demons to coexist.”

“That dream of yours is not pitiable… it is just impossible,” William adds gruffly. It appears that he has pulled himself together for the most part. He is looking at me again, at least.

I continue: “When we crossed paths that second time, it was one of my first thoughts about you. There was – and still is – something about you that makes the idea of peace seem possible.”

This last statement clearly surprises him. And after a moment of confused blinking, that spectacular look of intrigue enters his eyes. I was beginning to miss it. “Are you _truly_ a demon?”

I chuckle quietly despite myself. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t.”

-

Although we seem to have mostly resolved our conflict, Spears and I are still not on the same terms as before. It is clear that despite entrusting me with a significant aspect of his story, the reaper is still uncertain whether I can be trusted or not.

Knowing this, I have refrained from mischief whenever William has been present. Unfortunately, my chances to prove myself have been limited because he and I haven’t spent as much time together as we once had.

In fact, I have only seen William twice so far this week, and one of those interactions was a simple, brief inquiry about if I had happened to see a wandering Grell Sutcliff anywhere. Because of our very few exchanges as of late, I am slightly surprised when Spears appears at the manor four days after we had talked of his past and invites me to join him for the evening.

The two of us leave the Phantomhive estate together and head into London to see to some soul collecting which had been assigned to a different reaper up until recently; Spears explains that the worker had gotten himself significantly injured.

“We will be far more efficient in our business if moving above the streets,” William says to me. So we take to the rooftops.

Being out of the cobblestone streets seems to change my state of mind. Rather than being the Phantomhive butler, I have reverted back to simply being a demon… For the time being, I am completely unshackled and have the privilege of making my own choices.

Above us is the moon. It’s full tonight, and it seems to glow brighter here than it does down on the streets. I am actually distracted by it until William nudges my shoulder, urging me to follow him.

There is a pleasant chill in the air, and I can see Spears’s breath on the wind as we glide about the city – through the shadows of civilization. I swear that noisy London is silent for once and that the moon is deliberately catching William in its soft glow. Even the darkened sky seems to wrap itself around him as if it craves his unique sort of energy.

We continue like this for some time, stopping only to collect souls. Finally, Spears completes the last collection for the night and looks to me.

Big Ben begins its rhythmic chiming, releasing echoes through the chilled London air.

A sudden look of anxiety crosses William’s features. “It seems that I have… neglected something at home. Will you join me?”

Puzzled, I cannot help but stare at him a moment… This sort of behavior is not very characteristic of Spears; the last time he had forgotten to tend to something in his realm, he had asked me to wait outside for him, so why is he inviting me to come along this time? And why does it seem as if he is being dishonest in some way? At the same time, however, there is something in the way he looks at me that simply makes the concept of refusing seem illogical.

I accept.

With this affirmation, the reaper silently opens a portal to the Reaper’s Realm, and I follow him to his residence, where he opens the front door and ushers me inside.

After stepping through the threshold, William stands rather awkwardly nearby. I had expected him to slip off into another part of the house to see to whatever needed seeing to, but now he is lingering, looking like he would very much like to leave the area but cannot for some reason. I recognize very slowly that he is waiting for me to do something.

What exactly this would be, I haven’t the slightest idea… that is until I realize that his meandering eyes keep darting in one particular direction.

I notice vibrant colors in the corner of my vision and turn my head to see a bouquet of flowers splayed out in a glass vase on the coffee table in the living room. I realize that this adornment was not present the last time I was here – when I had sat on the other side of that table from Spears, and I also become aware of the fact that I recognize this bouquet of flowers in particular.

It is the very same one I had presented to William some days ago when we had still been allies.

For a while, I’m not very sure what to say… I’m not even very sure what this all _means_.

Spears seems notably agitated by my lack of response. His face reddening a little, he says sharply, “Perhaps I am not conveying myself accurately…” The reaper fumbles slightly while adjusting his spectacles and averts his gaze to some other part of the room before continuing. He clears his throat and speaks as if the words were premeditated. “I would like to apologize for my reaction that night and for my obstinate behavior… I believe now that I have misjudged you…” Under his breath, he adds, “… Although you _were_ being a little churlish…” He sighs. “I suppose I should not have expected everything to go without issue. We are two beings naturally meant to oppose each other, after all… That being said, I would like to formally ask you… to be my ally again…?”

I blink several times as I process William’s speech. I certainly wasn’t expecting him to be the one reaching out for us to reunite, but it is definitely not an unwelcome surprise. I can’t help myself but smile slightly.

As a demon, it has always been a struggle for me to understand humanity’s way of expressing emotion… and right now, I am not entirely sure how to communicate the depth of my gratitude to Spears. Feeling as if it must be done, however, I make an attempt.

I am not even aware of my own intentions as I step closer to William. I stop when roughly an arm’s length from him, and he’s eyeing me uncertainly.

“I hope this will not be a repeat of last time…” he utters warily, taking a partial step backward.

“Oh, absolutely not,” I reply earnestly. “I recognize that it may seem like a gamble to trust me after what has happened, but…” Spears draws near unexpectedly, surprising me.

“Good,” he answers simply. We are only centimeters from each other, and this gives me a close view of his eyes.

Despite gazing directly into them, it takes me several seconds to realize that there is a subtle difference to his eyes. I had thought his eyes were intriguing before, but now they’re so stunningly – well, _grand_ is the only word I can think to use… Looking deeper into his eyes, I come to the conclusion that I am finally getting the chance to read the story I had known was there.

Reflected in his eyes is a tale like no other – one that seems to have existed longer than himself. It is a tale of Life and Death and of strength and frailty. I sense temples of grandeur and ponds bearing water lilies, and at the same time, there is firelight and dancing and ancient songs – songs much older than even myself. It is as if he’s existed a thousand times in a thousand different places and remembers all of it. I didn’t know all of this could be hidden within a Grim Reaper – a being so often belittled. In this moment, Spears is even more complex than I once assumed.

“I know you are a demon,” begins this newly unfamiliar creature. “But I also understand now that you are not just simply such. There was something I was missing before, but I believe that I am beginning to see it.”

An unfamiliar feeling seizes me, and there is no real way for me to put a name to it… It causes speech to fail me so that I am merely standing silent, still locked into the reaper’s eyes.

My lapse of silence seems to bother that unfamiliar creature; just as suddenly as it had arrived, it hid itself away again, leaving scarcely a trace of its presence. Spears steps back as himself, appearing discouraged. After a moment of silence, he says, “I requested a reconvening of our alliance… Do you formally accept?”

It seems as if a lot has happened in so little time, but after all of this, I simply find that I am amused. I grin and answer, “I assumed that my previous reaction was enough of an indication of my acceptance.”

William’s typical scowl forms onto his features. “Honestly, don’t start up that puckish nonsense again.”

“You admitted it yourself – you shouldn’t expect everything to go as planned. I am not as noxious as my cohorts, but I am still a demon,” I respond, suppressing a chuckle.

“Good grief… Don’t push your luck.”

-

It is 1903, and to my pleasant surprise, the alliance between Spears and I has held strong. Despite our minor conflicts, we are still partners, and it seems that our partnership has even grown in power since my contract’s conclusion.

Having no current desire to find another soul to hunt, I have instead committed myself to learning more about my reaper companion. No matter how much I manage to discover, there always seems to be more to know. William rarely cooperates with me, so I am never bored.

I cherish moments when I can glimpse my reaper’s true nature: on moonlit rooftops and in side streets; when he turns and gazes at me, speaking volumes without words; or when his eyes flash with intrigue.

On this night, Spears leads me to stand near the very top of Big Ben’s clock tower – above even the belfry; he says that he has a surprisingly little amount of work this evening and simply thought to do something interesting in his spare time.

The chill of the nighttime air wafts over us and there is silence between us as we look out onto the city of London. For a time, I am watching the world below and leaning into the wind. It has been some time since I’ve been this far above the ground, and it seems as if I’d forgotten how much I enjoy it. I am closing my eyes when the clock strikes midnight.

The tower shakes with the powerful chimes of the bells below us. Something compels me to look over in Spears’s direction. He turns to meet my gaze almost simultaneously and I fall hopelessly into his eyes.

He stares at me wordlessly for several seconds, and in the moment just before he turns away again, I swear that either my eyes are failing me…

Or William T. Spears just smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting something here, so I have no idea what I'm doing. Forgive me if something is weird. :'D
> 
> I originally uploaded this story to deviantArt about a year ago, but I've decided to now use this site to share my work, as well.
> 
> Although it's not my most recent work, I still enjoyed writing it. So I hope you enjoyed reading!


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